


Here Now

by Androids_in_Metropolis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cute, Depression, Drepression, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Nogitsune, Slice of Life, Two Shot, greaving, slightly au timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Androids_in_Metropolis/pseuds/Androids_in_Metropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t moved from his room except to pee since 3pm the day before. He hadn’t welcomed his dad home, or made dinner...he had fallen asleep, woken up, realised that he had missed his dad coming home, and cried himself back to sleep; What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be the good kid his dad deserved? Of course, he tried, but it was never good enough. Stiles knew that.</p><p> His dad didn’t want him. Why would anyone want him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of the End

**Author's Note:**

> another try at a teen wolf story, haha. I'm sorry, I know the first one was very bad >

Stiles felt like it should have been a solid scientific fact that 96.9% of dads were dicks. Almost every dad seemed to be trying to gang up or hurt their family somehow...not his though. He wondered how; Not his though. He wondered how the hell he had gotten so lucky as to have such a supportive, kind father. He didn’t deserve it…

Honestly, dead mother, demon possession, and all he had a pretty good life-It was a good life, but not a life he felt like he deserved. What had he ever done to deserve such an amazing father? Amazing friends? A good boyfriend? A house? A town that took care of him, and a school that wasn’t half bad? He had food, and even though his own mother was dead he could always depend on Scott’s mother to be there if he ever needed something only a mom could do. 

Now he lay in bed, looking despondently at the ceiling. Why couldn’t someone more deserving have had his life? Stiles didn’t think he should have even been in the top ten souls that could have lived his life, but here he was, apparently the winner of some lottery for life. 

He hadn’t moved from his room except to pee since 3pm the day before. He hadn’t welcomed his dad home, or made dinner...he had fallen asleep, woken up, realised that he had missed his dad coming home, and cried himself back to sleep; What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be the good kid his dad deserved? Of course, he tried, but it was never good enough. Stiles knew that. 

Even though his dad rarely looked disappointed in him, Stiles though he must just have been good at hiding it. Surely he couldn’t really think that Stiles was a good kid? He was a police officer after all. He was trained to sniff out the bad kids. Maybe he just kept him around because he reminded him of Stiles mother. They were nearly identical. 

He was first generation American from Poland on his mother’s side, and second generation on his fathers; He had once asked what that meant-In her soft accent his mother had explained to him that it meant that she was from someplace else, and had worked to make sure Stiles was from this place-America, and that his tato had helped make him from America because his parents were American and their parents were from someplace else. His little seven year old head hadn’t been able to get around it. 

Now he saw it; She had worked to make a family in a country she had perceived as better. While she deserved whatever had made her happy, why had she been trying to explain it to him? Why had she tried to give him the best of both worlds? He didn’t even deserve one world...is that why God had taken his mother away (not, strictly speaking, that Stiles was religious...in fact, he was atheist, but still, he had this feeling that God was there somehow)? Had he been punishing Stiles for his sins by punishing his innocent mother? 

The hours slipped by, Stiles not moving from his bed. Soon it was dark again. He almost laughed, he had woken in dark a day before? Hours before? He wasn’t sure, but here the familiar darkness was again. It wasn’t the inky soft darkness the demon inside him had offered earlier, but something more sad; Something trying to comfort him by putting it’s cold hands around his throat and strangling the life from him. 

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he found his own pale hands clutching at his throat. He found he couldn’t breath. He shuddered, releasing his grip-What was he doing? What was he becoming? What had he done? 

He fell back asleep, welcoming the darkness. Again he forgot to welcome his father home. 

When he woke up again it was late, the darkness had changed...there was a pressure at the end of his bed, something was holding him. Stiles began to scream, choking on his own noises. He felt the panic coursing through his veins, but suddenly he didn’t care what happened next, instead bursting into tears, laying completely still as whatever is was took him (surprisingly gently, if clumsily) into it’s arms. 

“Stiles, Stiles, baby,” said a voice that stiles was slowly identifying as his father’s. “Stiles, honey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay, common champ, wake up,” Mr. Stilski whispered, his discomfort rising as Stiles continued to lie absolutely still, the only movement the involuntary shaking of sobs. He didn’t make an attempt to reply to his father, to wriggle out of the death grip the older man had around his waist. He didn’t try to tell him that he was okay. 

Stiles wanted to move-Wanted to get up and tell his dad that he was fine, that it was just a nightmare (he could lie. He hadn’t told his dad about his panic attacks in years)-but he didn’t know he would do if he let go of the rigid position he had put himself into. He couldn’t predict the future...he couldn’t read feelings. 

He suddenly jolted to his feet, a sudden surge of strength managing to break free from his father’s grasp as he grabbed at his waste paper basket, dry heaving into it, disregarding the fact that it was made out of wire. He was shaking so badly now-Now that’d he’d moved, his whole body was moving. His skin was crawling, his eyes were roving the room, his hands were shaking so badly he was having trouble bracing himself against the floor. 

The Sheriff was on the floor beside his son in moments, as soon as he had recovered from the shock of the sudden flurry of movement, his arm around Stiles’ shaking shoulders. The boy was in a cold sweat, his breath was too shaky. 

“Stiles, answer me, please?” The sheriff pleaded with his son, his own voice breaking. Stiles had always been delicate and shaky and hard to predict at times, but his kind of indifference...as if the Sheriff wasn’t there at all but instead some horrible monster that he didn’t want to acknowledge was holding; It terrified Mr. Stilinski. 

“Stiles, baby, Stiles…” he tried again, his voice fading into Stiles’ foggy mind before he could really listen to the words. He was able to untangle the voice though, clutching onto it as the trembling got worse and worse. 

His dad didn’t want him. Why would anyone want him? 

“He’s just a hyperactive little bastard. I pay his medical bills, school, everything! Why?” 

The words his father had said when he hadn’t realised that Stiles was in the room, in one of his drunken arguments with his friends soon after Stiles’ mother’s death. The words had been echoing in his head ever since. His father had apologized; He had begged for forgiveness. Stiles had given it to him...of course he had. 

It was true though. 

Now he was weak; He would always be weak, dragging people down with him. He clung to his father, tears staining the elder man’s shirt, his hands shaking. He was crying harder, his whole body playing into the other’s. He couldn’t hold himself up or keep himself apart from people. He was too weak. 

Mr. Stilinski picked Stiles up...God, he had gotten skinny. The boy weighed almost nothing in his arms. It was scaring him; Stiles clung to him like he had when he was younger and thought that the Sheriff could protect him from everything. How had he let Stiles end up this way? He barely ever saw him anymore... He had no idea what was going on in his son’s life. 

He had to take him someplace, but in Stiles state of panic it didn’t seem like the hospital should be the first choice. He dialed on of four number on his speed dial. 

“Mellissa?” He said hoarsely. “Can you come help me? Stiles. Yeah, something’s up, like he’s sick or something.” 

The clock read 4am. 

*****

When Melissa, and Scott arrived with Liam, Isaac, and surprisingly enough, Derek in tow the Sheriff was sitting in shock on the couch Stiles’ prone body in his arms. He had not expected the crowed… 

The boys hung back as Melissa conducted a quick medical examination, concluding that it was flu coupled with stress and the kid’s severe anxiety issues that might be causing him to hallucinate...She took the sheriff to the kitchen, assuring him that the boys would be alright with Stiles. 

Meanwhile, in the living room Scott cuddled into the corner of the couch, pulling Stiles up to him and wrapping himself around his friend. Everyone was still in their pajamas, their hair messy as they piled around Stiles, Derek hanging back but blushing as he reached for Stiles hand, holding it slightly tighter than was strictly necessary. 

Everyone could feel the sadness, and a funny kind of hatred rolling off Stiles’ as they held him, and they tried to push it away and sort through it. They weren’t sure if the pack comfort would work-Stiles was a human, even if he was part of the pack, and he was pulling away from them for some reason. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen. 

“We need to talk-About Stiles.”


	2. The Beginning of the Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this might be a little short, but I hope you like this final :)

“We need to talk; About Stiles,” Melissa said, shutting the kitchen door behind her. 

Melissa Mccall knew Stiles as if her were her own son-Sometimes she even felt like she understood him better than she understood Scott. She sure as hell knew when something was wrong, and now, something was wrong; Very, very wrong. 

“John,” she said softly, putting her hand over the sheriff’s. He looked exhausted… “I think Stiles may be depressed,” she said, biting her lip. Those weren’t words any parent wanted to hear; She knew. When Isaac had been diagnosed it had been hard on everyone, it had been hard to take. Things were better now though; A thousand times better, in fact. 

“Depressed?” The Sheriff echoed. He was too tired...too old. How was he going to raise Stiles? He couldn’t even make him happy, or so it seemed. He wanted to cry. Stiles was all he had left. Sure, he had friends and a job and things he could do but if Stiles...the thought was too terrible, he pushed it away. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Melissa said calmly, “I mean, it would make sense. He hasn’t been sleeping, he hasn’t been eating, he hasn’t been going out after school or talking to his friends and, let me guess, you haven’t seen him in a while, either,” she said, slowly. She didn’t want to tell the sheriff about his own son, but she had known John a long time. Sometimes it took a while for him to notice things; Stiles was his son, a small, living and breathing being-They didn’t have time for the Sheriff to come to the realisation himself. 

“No, no he hasn’t,” the sheriff croaked, his voice breaking. Stiles meant the whole fucking world to him-What would he do without him? What if Stiles was just drifting away from him...he thought about Stiles in the living room, on the couch; He was so small and pale, he was shaking and silent. His screams from earlier than night still echoed in the sheriff’s mind. “What can we do?”

The sheriff looked at Melisa, a new kind of desperateness in his old, tired eyes. He was only thirty-nine, but he seemed much older. He squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t be losing his son. Not any time soon, not ever. 

Melissa began to speak. 

_______

In the living room Derek was now the only one left, holding Stiles’ limp body close to him as he tried desperately to absorb the irrationally high amounts of pain from the boy. Stiles was two years younger than himself...This was the kind of pain Derek had felt when his whole family had seemingly been burned alive. Why did Stiles...how could he hurt this much? It wasn’t even physical-It was rolling from his mind and coating everything in a thick layer of dismal hatred. 

“Aren’t I disgusting?” Stiles whispered, noting that Scott, Isaac, and Liam had gone back to bed at Melissa’s insistence, but that Derek had refused to leave. Was it because he had a duty as an alpha or something? Why else would he stay? 

Derek blinked, taken aback by the question, small realisations settling over his him like soft snow-flakes melting into his skin. This was the pain Stiles’ was feeling. This was the pain of blaming yourself for something you couldn’t change. 

“No, I think you’re beautiful,” Derek whispered, unsure of himself even as the words left his mouth. Stiles’ needed a friend, and Derek would be a friend. Of course he already had plenty, but one more wouldn’t hurt...Derek knew Stiles’ probably wouldn’t want him as what he wanted to be; Something more than a friend. Somebody who was innately special. Someone that you felt like you needed by your side in order to breathe. 

That’s how Stiles made Derek feel, but now wasn’t really an opportune time to bring that up. Never would probably be a better time. Derek didn’t want to lose Stiles completely. 

Stiles blinked rapidly, looking up suspiciously at Derek. Why would Derek say that to him? Was he really that cruel? Did he deserve it… Didn’t Derek have any idea how much words like those could hurt Stiles, especially coming from Derek. 

Derek felt the shift in the pain, for a moment, almost believing he could see the colour shift from dark blue to pink (energy had colour, sometimes, if it was strong enough...or at least, Derek hoped it did, because otherwise he was losing his mind). He didn’t think, instead leaning forward and kissing Stiles’ forehead. 

Stiles almost smiled, blinking back at him in utter surprise. He thought he would start crying; What had he done? Was Derek going to hurt him?

“I’ll never hurt you,” Derek whispered, as if he had heard the younger boy’s thoughts, brushing away his hair with a trembling hand. He could not believe what he had just done…

_____________

Stiles had been to the doctor; Well, a doctor and a psychiatrist, actually. He had a new orange bottle of pills in his pocket, and a list of carefully handwritten instructions and ideas nestled between the pages of a brand new journal. 

Derek was waiting out by the receptionist’s desk, and as soon as he saw Stiles he smiled, running to him and wrapping his arms around the younger male. He put his face in Stiles’ hair, soaking in his scent. Stiles’ smelled like anxiety, and somehow, also like freedom. 

“How’d it go?” He whispered, running his hand gently over Stiles’ back. 

Stiles pulled back, holding up the little orange bottle of pills, grinning like a dork. 

“It’s not just me, Derek. It’s not just in my head,” he whispered, his tone that of an elated child finding out he wasn’t in trouble. The invisible disease that had been plaguing him...it was real. It wasn’t just a dream. He wasn’t crazy. 

Derek laughing, his heart breaking a little as he clutched Stiles’ to him, bringing him back out to his car and climbing into the driver's side. 

“Come on, I’m taking you to my house. We’re ordering pizza and celebrating the fact that you made it, you beautiful being,” Derek laughed, a little manic. Stiles’ would be alright...it might be hard sometimes, but he’d be alright.

“I love you,” Derek said suddenly, stepping on the gas as they sped to the little house where Derek had lived alone since he had come out of foster care after his parents’ deaths. He was only 19, but he had lived a great deal already. 

“I-I love you, too,” Stiles’ whispered, suddenly feeling less afraid of whatever would happen next. He had friends, Scott, Liam, Isaac, Lydia, and even Jackson and Allison, and he also had Derek. Things could go up from here; After all, once you hit rock bottom, you can only go up. 

“I love you, too.” He repeated, softly, almost to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, I decided this needed some sort of message and here the big message that it's okay to go get help, and accept help, and take medicine that you've been perscribed and to listen to what your doctor says. You and strong and beautiful :) Be kind to yourself. 
> 
> Please review, darlings x

**Author's Note:**

> Please review and tell me what you think : )


End file.
